


A surplus of candles

by lwise2019



Series: Mikkel's Story [8]
Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-25 21:01:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21362623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lwise2019/pseuds/lwise2019
Summary: The team finally gets through to the sponsors and Mikkel makes his disastrous discovery.I changed the way that breakfast got ruined because I like it better, and gave one of Sigrun's lines to Tuuri since it sounds more like her to me.
Series: Mikkel's Story [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1536739
Kudos: 15





	A surplus of candles

The next morning Mikkel again tried to radio back to the base, and again got nothing but static which he switched off immediately. As he started out of the tank, he nearly bowled over Tuuri and Lalli behind her.

“Oh! Is the radio not working still?”

“Just static. I'll try again later.”

“Well, we, me and Lalli, we might be able to get through. Lalli's a mage, you know.”

Mikkel blinked. Certainly Lalli's file had described him as a mage but he had thought that Tuuri, as a skald, would be less superstitious than to believe in magic. But what did it matter? She was a mechanic; maybe the radio just needed adjusting or something.

“Fine, give it a try. Don't — ” It was foolish but he felt just a little uncomfortable about letting her listen to the static. “Uh. Don't spend too long at it. If you can't get through, you can't.”

“Sure. And what should I tell them about the books?”

“Tell them we have about a dozen.” As she opened her mouth to object, he held up a hand and continued, “I know, we have more. But only about a dozen really good ones. Those others we'll bring along, but I think they're worthless and I don't want to get the sponsors' hopes up.”

“Okay, I'll do that,” she answered cheerfully, backing up to allow him to exit before she and Lalli entered and closed the door.

* * *

Mikkel's morning campfire was not burning well, and snide comments from Emil about how slowly breakfast was progressing didn't help. Sigrun, at least, was mercifully silent, keeping watch and listening to their surroundings. All three leapt to their feet when a thunderous boom seemed to emanate from the tank itself.

“Did the radio explode now?” Sigrun called shakily.

“No, no, everything is fine!” Tuuri called back. The three looked at each other uncertainly and slowly sat back down as Lalli let himself out and dropped wearily to the ground a few feet from Emil. Mikkel went back to trying to poke up his fire, but somehow the stick that should have been prodding at a log hit one of the legs of his cooking tripod, and somehow that leg had been set right on the edge of a rock, and somehow — somehow — the whole thing went over, taking the pot and the half-cooked porridge with it.

Mikkel's _sotto voce_ comment would have gotten him a stern lecture from his grandmother Anne, matriarch of the Madsen farm. They had just three weeks food which could be stretched to four by which time, he hoped, they'd have either rescue or resupply. Losing a single meal was unfortunate but survivable, he supposed, but he could have kicked himself for his clumsiness. They needed the whole team at its best.

“We're starving!” Emil whined.

“I'll check the back for something quick to prepare,” Mikkel answered with a sigh, hurrying to the storage section of the tank.

As he pried at the lid of one of their two crates of food, he could hear Torbjörn Västerström, Emil's uncle and sponsor, who had obviously just heard about their limited collection of books: “Do you think you could return there and pick up the rest? If there really is a ton of books, then —”

“Oh. No,” Tuuri interrupted in some embarrassment. “Emil set the place on fire. I'm sorry.”

“I see,” Torbjörn was saying just as Mikkel raised the lid of the crate and, to his horror, found himself looking at an entire crate full of … candles. He didn't even hear the rest of the conversation as he pulled the first crate off, opened the second, and found it too full of nothing but candles.

Mikkel closed the two crates and restacked them, giving himself a moment to rest his forehead against the upper crate in despair. His pendant felt very cold against his chest.

> “Mikkel, what kind of prank are you playing this time? Michael says you said you're going back to the Silent World!”
> 
> “No prank,” Mikkel said quietly.
> 
> His eldest sister, Maja, continued, “I don't think it's funny and — what!?”
> 
> “No prank. I've signed up for an expedition to —”
> 
> “Have you gone mad!? It's only by the kindness of the gods that you weren't there at …” Her voice dropped to a horrified whisper, “Kastrup.”
> 
> “I wasn't there because I was insubordinate and insulted my captain.”
> 
> “Well, the gods told you to do it just in time!”
> 
> Mikkel muttered, “I don't recall hearing them say anything.” He frowned at her. “What is this talk of gods? You sound like Hilmar.” He did like his Icelandic brother-in-law, but there was no denying that the man was superstitious and invoked his “gods” entirely too often for Mikkel's taste.
> 
> Her pale face reddened. “He makes a lot of sense, Mikkel. He says the gods sent the Rash because we forgot them, and you can't deny that the Rash isn't like any other disease ever, ever! It isn't natural at all and the Icelanders that went back to worshipping the gods are the ones that survived! He says —”
> 
> “They survived because they live on an island and they closed their borders early —”
> 
> “Leave it, Mikkel. Tell me why you would — why anyone would — want to go back to the Silent World.”
> 
> “For the books, Maja. There were lots of books there and our sponsors think they've pinpointed some that could still be intact —”
> 
> “For books? You're going to risk your life for books? What's wrong with you! What do you think Hilmar's doing!?”
> 
> “He's translating Icelandic books. _Icelandic_ books, Maja. They aren't _ours_. And anyway, all they have are the books that they didn't _burn_ when they decided to go back to their old … religion.” He caught himself before saying “superstitions”. She was upset enough without his insulting her husband.
> 
> “Well, we burned our books too so that's why we don't have them!”
> 
> “_Our ancestors_ burned books because there was no fuel and the alternative was freezing! The Icelanders didn't have that excuse. They still don't, come to that. Look, let's not argue. This won't be like Kastrup. It's a very small expedition, one tank, very quiet, and we won't try to build anything and we won't stay in one place long enough to attract grosslings. We'll run instead of fighting, and if it's too dangerous we'll just turn back. It'll be all right, really, I'm sure.”
> 
> She bit her lip, looking at the ground for a moment. Finally she looked up at him, pulled her pendant from around her neck, and offered it to him. “Then wear this. For me. It's — it's made from the stone of the Thorsmork — ” Seeing his dubious face, she added, “It doesn't matter if you don't believe; it can't hurt. For me, Mikkel?”
> 
> Mikkel hung the pendant around his neck.

Mikkel pulled out the pendant and looked at the small polished stone hammer. He didn't think it had helped at all. They were trapped on the wrong side of a collapsed bridge, and now they were out of food. On the other hand, he supposed that Maja would say it _had_ helped since they hadn't gone into the sea with the bridge. He tucked it back in his shirt, straightened his shoulders, and went forth to handle the latest disaster.

“May I borrow the radio for a second?” He asked Tuuri quite courteously.

“Oh, of course, go ahead.”

“Hello, this is Mikkel Madsen speaking,” he stated in his most professional tones.

“Well, hello, Mikkel! How are you doing?” Torbjörn answered in some confusion.

“I'm quite well, thank you.” As Torbjörn started to respond politely, Mikkel added, “We're out of food.”

“Uh … what?” That was Torbjörn.

“What?!” That was Emil outside the tank.

“_What!?_” And that was Sigrun charging into the tank.

“Yes. But we do have a surplus of candles.”

“No panic, this can be fixed,” Torbjörn said hastily. “Let's do this: You drive back here, we restock the supplies, and tomorrow we start anew. Yes, that will work.”

By this time Sigrun and Mikkel were both crowding Tuuri into the radio. “Yeah, except no, it won't,” Sigrun snarled. “The bridge is broken.”

“You … _broke_ the bridge!?”

“WHAT?!!” All three in the tank recognized Admiral Olsen's bellow. Years of supervising heavy work on his base without adequate ear protection had left him largely deaf, and he tended to shout as if others were too.

“Nnnoo? It was already broken when we got there,” Tuuri quavered.

“N-no sir, it was already broken when they got there!” A woman's voice, speaking Swedish. Siv Västerström, Torbjörn's wife, then, Mikkel deduced.

There was more that the three in the tank could not make out, but the Admiral's answer was loud and clear: “HOW SOON?!! I COULD ARRANGE THAT TODAY! BUT SECURING PERMISSION FROM THE NATIONAL SECURITY OFFICE WILL TAKE … FOUR WEEKS!!”

Mikkel closed his eyes for a long moment. Four weeks. Exactly as long as they would have been able to hold out, if they'd had the food. Why hadn't anyone checked the crates as they were loaded? Why hadn't _he_ checked the crates as they were loaded?

“Wait …” Torbjörn was puzzled. “If the bridge was already broken, how did you get across it?”

“I dunno,” Sigrun answered innocently. “I guess we should get off now.”

At her gesture, Tuuri cut the connection. They went back out of the tank and sank to the ground in a discouraged silence. There would be no exploring today.


End file.
